I was barely a hundred yards from the beach, when I heard, or fancied I heard, just the faintest of inarticulate cries.
I listened, but it was not repeated. In the ordinary course, I would have paid no heed, but something above and beyond me prompted me to satisfy myself that all was right.
I swung round and started quickly for the point of the rocks again. In a few seconds, I reached it and swam round to the other side. I scanned the water between me and the shore,—it was as smooth as glass, with only bobbing brown bulbs everywhere denoting the presence of the seaweed.
I looked at the beach, and across to Miss Grant's house,—there was no one in sight.
A feeling of horror crept over me. It was improbable,—impossible,—that she could have reached the shore and got inside the house so quickly.
I glanced over the surface of the water again.
Good God!—what was that?
Not fifty yards from the beach, and just at the point where the bobbing brown bulbs were thickest, a small hand and an arm broke the surface of the water. The fingers of the hand closed convulsively and a ring glittered in the sunlight. Then the hand vanished.
With a vigorous crawl stroke,—keeping well on the surface for safety,—I tore through that intervening space.
Oh!—how I thanked God for my exceptional ability in diving and swimming under water.